


Cool

by ElAlmaDelMar



Series: A/B/O/tober 2020 [10]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, F/M, Robin's a very handy lady, Using powers for sexy purposes, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:49:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26940916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElAlmaDelMar/pseuds/ElAlmaDelMar
Summary: Her hands appear and disappear as smoothly as Zoro moves through his sword forms, and he sees it — he sees that her control is the equal of his, her mastery of her surroundings a weapon in and of itself.She's a dangerous woman, their new crew mate. And Zoro has always been drawn to danger.A/B/O/tober Day 10: Non-penetrative sex
Relationships: Nico Robin/Roronoa Zoro
Series: A/B/O/tober 2020 [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947415
Comments: 7
Kudos: 39
Collections: A/B/O/tober 2020





	Cool

Everything about Robin is so _cool._

She speaks like ice wouldn't melt on her tongue. She faces whatever danger arises before them with her trademark low chuckle, that devilish _fufufu_ that communicates her sense of complete control over the situation, over the space around her, over everything. Her hands appear and disappear as smoothly as Zoro moves through his sword forms, and he sees it — he sees that her control is the equal of his, her mastery of her surroundings a weapon in and of itself. 

She's a dangerous woman, their new crew mate. And Zoro has always been drawn to danger. 

Cool lips trace a line up the column of his throat, and he shivers despite himself. The urgency of rut is roaring through his veins, boiling him from the inside out — he knows he's flushed, nearly feverish with the height of his hormonal cycle, with the need to _claim_ and _fuck_. Under normal circumstances, he'd shut himself away from the crew and train himself into exhaustion over and over until it ended. 

But this time, Robin offered him a hand. And he may still not entirely trust her motives for asking to join the crew, may not yet feel he has the full measure of her, but — well. He's in rut and she's the alluring kind of dangerous. 

The fingers that pinch at his nipples are icy cold, and he yelps despite himself, eyes snapping open to glare at her where she reclines on the other side of Merry's "cycle room" — storage, really, but also isolation when one of the Strawhats is in heat or rut. In this case, him. 

She smirks and lets the ice cube drop back into her glass. "I wondered if the cold would carry over," she murmurs, all innocence, as the disembodied arm growing out of the wall draws its cold fingers across his chest to torment the other nipple. "I'm going to guess that's a yes." 

"Damn you," he growls, his face heating up yet more as she twists his nipple between those fingers. The words are toothless, and they both know it. He wants her — he wants what she's giving him. 

"Is that really what you mean?" Her smile feels like a knife at his throat, and he feels a mouth appear from the woodwork where his shoulder meets the storage room wall, mouthing at his skin and nipping lightly at his traps. The lips are cold too, and he growls at her as she sips her drink, eyes wide with a play at angelic innocence. 

He tries to respond, can't quite make it into words; disembodied hands and mouth tease over his body, sending shivers of cold chasing the fever-heat of rut, and he's losing control of himself with a speed that would be embarrassing if he was given to such embarrassment. He's… well, _normally_ he's not, but Robin's aura of danger makes him wish he could hold himself in better reserve. 

Fingers trace up the insides of his thighs, _inside_ the baggy trousers that are all the clothing he's still wearing, and he gasps, rolling his knees outward to make space for the touch. Her gaze on him brightens as her hands caress him, as her duplicated mouths kiss and lick at his shoulders, at his nape. More arms spring from the wall, tracing curious hands and dragging fingernails along his biceps, the extensors in his forearms, into the hollows of his wrists. 

"Do you trust me, Swordsman-san?" she asks, the question soft and slippery as silk. 

It's a deeper question than a little relief during rut should bear, and he snaps his gaze to her, scowling. He _doesn't_ trust her, not yet. It's his job to be distrustful, because the others can't or won't. But he also accepted her offer of company and help during his rut. She has not — yet — done anything to suggest that she is not genuine in her desire to change sides and be one of them. 

But he still can't quite make himself give her an unreserved yes. "... Don't make me guess what you have in mind," he says instead, the words thick and difficult on his tongue. Rut does that to you — strips away humanity and control. 

She tips her head to him, acknowledging the riposte as a fair one. "Let me guide your hands," she says, and the cool fingers tracing down his arms slide farther, covering his hands with hers, narrow palm to broad back. "I won't restrain you." 

"I'm stronger than you anyway," he manages. On a purely physical level, it's true, but overall? Not nearly as true as he might like. 

But he does yield control to her, and her hands guide his to loosen his trousers and push them down. He steps out of them, kicks them away, and stands square, facing her. Nude, flushed, and very, very erect, while she leans against the wall, fully clothed, looking utterly unaffected by his nudity or the thick miasma of alpha pheromones in the little room. 

He's not even certain what her secondary sex _is_. The suppressants she's on, whatever they are, they're good.

The hands stroking up his legs pinch lightly at the skin of his inner thighs, and he can't stop himself from jumping, just a little — it's sensitive, it's vulnerable, _he's_ vulnerable. Not how he likes it. But fuck, if her cool gaze doesn't make him want her even more. 

"Shall I give you relief?" she asks, her hands guiding his down to his cock. He realizes, abruptly, that she's not _entirely_ unaffected — her cheeks are too dark to show much of a flush, but there is a bright glitter in her eyes, and she licks her lips with less deliberation than hunger. She's enjoying herself, too. 

It makes him feel just a little better about this whole thing. About how he lets her wrap his own callused fingers around his shaft, how he lets her set the pace of stroking himself — how her fingers slip occasionally, deliberately, to brush startling cold against the mostly-flaccid knot at the base or against the flared head. How strange — how _good_ — it feels to let her guide him, to be touching himself but not the one in control. 

He's _leaning_ against the wall now, needing its support to hold himself up, panting in the quiet, close air as their joined hands move faster and faster on him. He can hear her, too — even though it's all her power at work, even though her own natural hands are doing nothing more complex than holding her drink, she's breathing deep and fast as his hips twitch with the need to _thrust_. 

His knot is starting to swell, and he knows he's not going to last much longer — not this round. He's in rut. There will be more than one before he's relieved. 

"There you go," her voice murmurs in his ear, and his hips give a tremendous jerk, entirely outside his conscious control — cool fingers clench tight around the flaring knot, a simulation of the clutch of an omega's inner muscles — and he _yelps_ as he comes, spending himself in long ropy spurts that splatter to the wood at his feet. 

At some point — not sure when — he must have closed his eyes. He opens them now, panting, and looks at her. Takes in her bright-sparkling eyes, her parted lips, the way she's abandoned the full pretense of calm untouchability to lean forward and devour him with her eyes. 

Not so very cool now, is she? 

It takes him a moment to coordinate his brain, tongue, and lips enough to speak. "... Enjoyed the show?" 

She collects herself enough to offer him a smile that is far warmer than before. "Very much."

**Author's Note:**

> I spent most of today wracking my brain for a fill idea for this prompt, and then smacked myself in the forehead when I realized the golden opportunity for Robin to play.


End file.
